Last Call
by onecrackerjack
Summary: "How does it go... Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." Elliot said, almost to himself more than to her. "... Technically, I'm not inside the bar yet, so I don't think it counts." Olivia offered, before adding. "If you want me to go, I can." "No... I, ah... I want you to stay."
1. A Thursday Evening

**I know. It's been a minute or two since I've posted. I could hand out a series of excuses about the 3 year hiatus on my story, The Rookie, but I feel like at this point, it would not do the long break justice. Without going into a deep array of excuses, lets just say I had to take care of some professional stuff.**

**This story has been living in my head for a few months. I'm hoping that by writing again I can drum up some personal interest in revisiting my other story some time soon. **

**Thanks for your understanding. **

As always, I own nothing. Stories written for fun. Not Profit. #nomoneyforcrackerjack

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**March 2019**

**Chelsea Neighborhood, NYC**

The bar was unusually busy this evening.

Not that the establishment was ever really what one would define as slow. Nothing was slow in New York City. Even at a bar and grill on the edge of Chelsea on a chilly Thursday night.

Perhaps the higher than average patronage of the bar this evening was due to it being the 15th of the month. Pay days usually increased the amount of Patrón Silvers that got served on a given night.

Another reason could have been the Law Enforcement Conference that was in town.

O'Dells was nothing, if not a dyed in the wool cop bar. Cop-owned; three generations, in fact.

Elliot grabbed a clean rag from the sink next to the far side of the bar, unfolding it slightly before positioning it in his cupped hand. With a long reach, he began swiping it across the mahogany surface, clearing the condensation left from the glasses that he had retrieved moments earlier. As he methodically cleaned up the remnants of the section of the bar that had just been vacated, his brow knitted together, deep in thought.

He had known the Police Conference was coming to town. It did so every 3 or 4 years; hitting larger cities like Seattle, Miami, Houston, Chicago. Given the sheer size of New York Cities Police Force, the conference was most often hosted here.

Also, Elliot got the monthly retiree newsletter from the Police Benevolent Association of New York. They usually had at least one or two special events for retired cops at these things, which had been highlighted in the most recent letter, including a happy hour, a recognition ceremony for meritorious service, workshops about life after the force, etc.

Elliot had thought about going. It had been 8 years since he had left the Job and he had essentially steered clear of anything law enforcement related for most of that time. No security work. No teaching at the academy, though an offer had been made shortly after he left the 1-6.

He couldn't do any of that. The closest he ever got to cops was serving them drinks after their shifts.

And for Elliot, that was not too bad. He got to imagine that he was still connected to the community, without the responsibility of holding someones life in his hands. Granted, he did have to collect people's keys every so often, make sure they got home safe... but he didn't have to draw a weapon. Didn't have to decide who lived or who died.

A kid or his partner.

That was too much to handle.

O'Dells was a great place to work. It was out of mid-town, so he was unlikely to see any of the cops that he used to work with frequenting the bar. Cops tended to drink in proximity to their own house. Likewise, most of the regulars at O'Dells worked Homicide, Warrants, and Vice; no Special Victims. In the 5 years Elliot had been working at O'Dells, he had yet to hear about a sex crime case while he was pouring someones' Whiskey Sour.

And, he found, at least in this bar, most people refrained from talking shop. It happened on occasion, but if people started doing it in front of him, he would just redirect the conversation to someone's kids, or ask how their wife was doing… If that didn't work, he could walk to the other end of the bar. Pretend to clean something... or take a break.

Elliot had thought seriously about the conference. He thought that maybe he was finally ready for something a little more immersive.

Plus, his shrink thought it was a good idea. Had said so when they spoke a few weeks back. … But, then he had looked up the Catalog for the Conference on the event website and thought better of it.

There were a series of panels on Sex Crime Victimology. Three over the course of 4 days. Among the panelists for each session…. His old partner - Olivia Benson.

Now… Lieutenant Olivia Benson.

God. Things had changed.

It was strange to think of Olivia, leading a unit. Not that he couldn't imagine it. Elliot certainly could see Olivia in leadership. She was a born leader. But, when he pictured her; thought back to the late nights in the file room, pouring over case files; sitting across from on another at their conjoined desks; he saw her soft expression, questioning eyes, and curious smile. He heard her voice... asking if he wanted take out before they when on stake out.

When he thought of her... Elliot thought of himself... walking with her, working with her... leaving her. His Partner... Olivia Benson.

While there were over 30,000 cops in New York City alone; even a remote possibility that he could run in to her was a deterrent to attend. Elliot didn't even care that the times for the panels and the times for the retiree events were at different points of the day. He knew that if he went… he would linger… just to see her. And, if Elliot saw her, he would feel regret.

Regret was something that he had already… he didn't need to feel more of it.

\- Regret over a failed marriage.

\- Regret at stunted relationships with his kids that took more time to repair than Elliot would care to admit.

\- Regret over leaving his best friend without so much as a word.

\- Regret over caring more about his best friend than the tail end of his reconciliation with his now, ex-wife.

\- Regret over never reaching out.

… Never having the balls to tell her how he felt.

… At being so broken for a time that he could do nothing more than listen to her voicemails until the speaker in his phone burnt out. Yeah… So many fucking regrets.

"I love when something like this is happening at the Javits," a gruff voice interjected, pulling Elliot from his thoughts.

Elliot turned to face his manager. "Yeah, Mikey? And, why's that?" The right corner of his mouth upturning slightly. "Is it cuz you get to watch an old man get flustered?"

"Ha!" His compatriot behind the bar chirped. "Don't pretend that you get flustered doing this. You used to chase down asshole perverts for a living. This is easy for you."

"I see that you took no effort to correct my statement about being an old man." Elliot joked, turning around fully to meet the amused countenance of his employer and friend.

Mikey… or former Detective First Grade, Michael Joseph O'Dell had been a lifer at the 71st in Brooklyn. He had aspirations of moving up into leadership, but a week after taking the Sergeants exam he had been shot twice; once in the elbow, and once in the hand. He had been offered a desk job upon recovery, but Mikey had put in his 20 years and then some. His pension was waiting for him… and he could not imagine working as a cop and not be out on the streets. Mikey was the kind of cop who's skills would have atrophied behind a desk, long term. He had to be in the action to be relevant. If he was not in the action, he was nothing.

Elliot understood. He didn't fault Mikey for leaving.

"Yeah. Well. You _are_ kinda old." Mikey sighed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Look who is fucking talking." Elliot chucked the rag that he had been using to wipe down the bar directly at Mikey's face. "You're only like 8 years younger than me."

With the quick reflexes of someone who had been dodging gunshots for the better part of 25 years, Mikey darted to the left, catching the rag on his shoulder.

"The difference between 49 and 57 is vast, my friend. I'm surprised you don't need a walker."

Elliot shook his head, trying to stifle the laughter that was building in his gut. "Shut up." He grabbed a piece of ice from the bar cooler next to him, and pitched it lightly toward his boss.

"Hey man, I just call um as I see um." Mikey added with a smile as he began collecting plates at his end of the bar. "Don't waste ice." He added with a tone of mock authority.

Elliot, still amused by the exchange, saluted quickly, before beginning to tend to customers once again. Mikey followed suit. While there where 3 people working the bar, and then 5 waitstaff working the restaurant portion of the venue, people kept streaming in. The conference was great for business. They had basically been seeing full patronage since 4pm. Once a table or stool was cleared, new people came in. No seat in the bar had remained empty for more than 5 minutes.

Three seats had cleared at the end of the bar, just on the other side of the entrance to the kitchen. It was slightly more secluded than the main loop of the bar bench, which was shaped like a large U. Elliot cast a quick glance to that section of the bar, and observed that two people had just entered the front, and were making their way to that area.

Elliot pitched his head over his left shoulder. "Mike. I got these guys". His coworker nodded without reply.

As Elliot made his way over he took stock of the younger man and woman that had just walked in.

The man was taller and was posted directly behind the woman, both of them moving as a pair as they walked to the open seats at the end of the bar. They let their eyes roam the venue, as if assessing, quickly.

Cops.

Definitely Cops… No surprise there… But not regulars.

Elliot squinted a little, watching them further. The man pulled the bar stool out slightly and offered it to the woman.

Partners. Partners for sure... Elliot, thought to himself. Both the man and the woman were probably in their mid to late 30's, if Elliot had to guess.

He realised that they were deeply engrossed in conversation with one another, not stopping their conversation as they sat down at the bar. The woman had blond hair, and kind blue eyes… though she also was currently wearing an expression akin to annoyance or agitation as she 'talked'… 'argued'… whatever, with her companion.

The guy… well he was definitely going grey… though, it was in a pretty 'stately' manner… if Elliot had to put a name to it.

Elliot reached up and scrubbed a hand past the light beard beset upon his chin and cheeks… pondering why some men get stately congressman hair, and others get patchy-ass beards, and a thinning high and tight. He pursed his lips at the thought.

As Elliot drew closer, he began to catch the tone of their exchange.

"Amanda, c'mon. Ya godda be kidding me. How can you not see that Heller is the doer? He's got serial rapist written all over him."

"Nope, Carisi. I don't think so. The guy's alibi is solid. Five people place him at the party during the time of the attack." The woman shook her head, stern in her response. She moved to take off her jacket. "Wishful thinking, Dom. ...Let it go." She added for good measure.

Elliot paused for a minute, his feet halting in place. '... Serial Rapist'

These cops could be SVU.

Elliot brushed off the thought. Even if they were, the possibility that he knew someone that knew these two cops was astronomical. Also, its not like other squads didnt have to deal with sex crimes once in a while.

He continued walking toward the pair. There was no way, right? Statistically that was almost a 1 in 10,000 chance, even with the conference. The 1-6 was way over on the other side of Midtown.

Nah, even if they were SVU, they had to be from somewhere like the 10th or the Six.

As Elliot reached the pair, he shook off his remaining doubt... "Hey there. How are ya doing tonight." Elliot offered.

Carisi jerked his head up from the stooped position he had been in while he was trying to connect with Amanda's eye line. She was reading the bar menu. "Oh hey. Yeah. Good. How're you."

"Can't complain." Elliot said with a smile before continuing. "I'm Eli. We have a few specials on tap this evening, as well as $4 on well drinks until 7:30pm. Special for the Conference, with valid ID. Whadda ya have?"

Rollin's looked up, catching the older man's eyes for the first time. "Can I get a water for now, and an order of tots." Her breath caught as she connected with his line of sight.

"Sure thing" Elliot nodded, not bothering to write down the order. "And for you, Sir?" He said, turning toward the younger man.

"Can I start with a Stella, please?" Carisi asked. "I'll work my way up."

"Sounds good." Elliot nodded again. "Together or separate."

"Seperate." The man and woman replied in unison.

"Would you like to start a tab?" Elliot looked at both of them expectantly.

"Yes." Carisi said, fishing is debit card out of his wallet.

"Me too." Amanda added, pulling her pocket book from her purse, she retrieved her VISA card.

"Great. I'll get these in for you. Tots should be about 10 minutes. Anything else?" Elliot asked.

"We're good for now." Amanda smiled politely, but her eyes narrowed as she looked at him more intensely.

Elliot tilted his head in the affirmative, noticing the way the blond woman was taking him in.. "I'll be back in a bit with your drinks." He added, before turning on his heels and making his way to the center of bar to input information into the register.

Carisi and Amanda, turned back to one another to continue their conversation where they had left off. As Amanda opened her mouth to talk more about the Heller case, she suddenly closed it back up, and then opened it once more, a gesture of trying to find her words. She squinted slightly, casting a glance to the back of the man that had just taken their order.

"… Hey Dom, does he seem familiar to you?"

Carisi shook his head in the negative. "Nah… never seen the guy." He thought for a moment… "…perhaps we crossed paths at some point. I mean. The guy is clearly a cop, or was at some point."

"How do you know he was a cop."

Carisi's face twisted into an expression similar to that of a smug professor, "Well, besides the fact that we were told no less than an hour ago that this was the best cop bar near the Javits Center… which makes me think he is a cop… I mean, look at him. Guys built like a tank. That, plus the way he sets his hand on his hip, like there was a gun there for 20 years, past the second belt loop… Cop." He pointed a finger, gestuing toward the older man that had just taken their order, as if for emphasis.

Amanda cast another furtive glance at the man that had introduced himself as Eli. He was using his large hands to deftly pour a bottle of amber liquid into a pint glass, and speaking to a women working next to him at the bar. He had close cut hair, a light beard, and a hawkish gaze. His shoulders were broad, something that was enhanced by the grey, cable-knit sweater, that cinched just at the point his narrow hips met his dark-wash blue jeans. He clearly lifted… regularly. She spotted what looked to be a tattoo on his right arm, just peaking out from his rolled up sleeve.

"Yeah, your probably right." She said letting out a puff of air as she spoke…"Also, that belt loop thing makes you sound like a nerd. Don't say that to anyone else." Amanda smirked.

"I'm not a nerd." Carisi narrowed his eyes, trying to be serious, before letting a grin pass the corner of his lips. "Hey, what time did Lieu say she would be here." He added before craning his neck to look at the door.

Amanda pulled her phone out of her pants pocket, scrolling through messages quickly. After finding the information she was looking for, she turned toward Carisi. "Well, she wanted to meet up with a couple people she's doing the panels with to talk about the set up tomorrow… then she said she was going to call Lucy. Check on Noah and all that."

Amanda lookd back to the bartender, whom was now making his way back with her and Dominic's beverages...She shook her head almost imperceptibly, willing herself to recall why the man walking towards them seemed so familiar. "...my guess, she'll be here in about an hour. Hour and a half at most." She added, as an after thought.

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**Thanks for reading. **

**I've got another chapter in the works right now. Guessing this may be two more chapters at most.**

**-crackerjack**


	2. Something Familiar

**I've been working this chapter over for a while. Wrote it, then read it, and rewrote it. It's seen a couple different iterations. Welp. Hopefully this one works. I also hope everyone is enjoying their summer.**

**June, July, and August is my busy season... so updates will come when time is flexible. I appreciate your patience.**

As always, I own nothing. Stories written for fun. Not Profit. #brokecrackerjack

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**March 2019**

**Chelsea Neighborhood, NYC**

30 minutes later

"Oh my god. I was so hungry." Amanda guffawed, eyes wide as she looked down. She shifted slightly in the raised bar chair. Taking stock of the scene before her.

Crumbs, everywhere. Mustard and ketchup slopped haphazardly across the white and red checkered parchment nestled in the plastic green basket.

After sizing up the damage, she fastidiously used what was left of her paper napkin to wipe her hands clean of the remnants of her fried feast, before setting it down just to the left of what was once a large basket of Tater Tots.

...

"I mean. I know." Carisi began, "You only let me have, like 3 tots…." He paused briefly, before letting a rueful smile take hold of his features; his right eyebrow rising up for good measure as he added.

"Amanda, are you pregnant again?"

Before Carisi could process what was happening, a balled up fist jabbed sharply at the point between his collarbone and his right shoulder. "Oww! Hey!" Carisi hissed, wincing, and moving his upper body slightly to protect himself. "I was joking, Amanda. Joking!"

Amanda's head jerked at the suggestion. "First of all, they were my tots. I paid for them. Second of all, shut the hell up. Never just ask a women if she is pregnant as a joke." Amanda huffed, shaking her head at her partners less than tactful sense of humor.

Only half joking, she added "I otta splash this drink in your face… you skinny, pasty, vest wearing…nerd!"

"manda, I didn't… I mean… I was playing" Carisi fumbled, "Did you call me a nerd, again." He looked at her; half bemused, half incredulous. "And, what's wrong with my vest." He pulled at the fabric of his bespoke, light grey pinstriped waistcoat.

Was she fucking with him? He couldn't tell.

The lingering pain in his shoulder said no. Plus, she insulted his vest. Dominic looked up in shear confusion, running his hands across the gray fabric now, in a comforting gesture. "I mean... I think it looks good."

"Never make pregnancy jokes, man." Elliot said as he picked up the empty tot basket in front of Amanda.

He had been able to slide next to their side of the bar, without the pair noticing. He assumed it was due to the exchange they were having.

His words, and the general stealthiness with which he approached, caught the pair off guard.

Amanda shifted away from her partners gaze to look back at the bartender, surprised by his presence. "Oh!" She chirped, covering her mouth with her left hand; shocked further by her own outburst. "Christ, you scared me."

"Justifiable Homicide." Elliot inserted, nodding at Amanda knowingly.

He figured that going along with the joke would ease the humorous yet real tension between them, and let them both recover from him inadvertently scaring her a bit. Elliot was a perceptive man. Dad skills plus cop skills… he could read almost anyone, save a few people, and, Elliot could tell that the question, or the pregnancy joke rather, felt more loaded to her than it did to her male companion. Perhaps because there were some feelings there.

Elliot let the thought linger at the forefront of his mind for half a second, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"What?" Amanda asked, catching her bearings, before picking up on the reason for his initial comment. Oh, yeah." She reached over suddenly, hitting Carisi once more in the shoulder… Just for the hell of it.

She turned back, gesturing to the barman. "Eli knows what he's talking about."

Carisi raised his hands in front of him, waiving them back and forth, as if to guard his body, and signal for surrender. He began chuckling lightly, but remained cautious. He was used to the spitfire nature of his partner, but sometimes he was still surprised by the speed and intensity of Amanda's agitation. "I give! No more pregnancy jokes. I swear."

Elliot looked between them briefly, before letting his eyes land on Amanda. "How many kids do you have." He inquired, all the while grabbing a glass and filling it with Seltzer water for the patron in the chair adjacent to him.

He deftly added a twist of lime and a straw in the beverage before placing it on the bar. "Here you are. Let me know if you need anything else." He turned back to Amanda.

Amanda's eyes lit up at the question, a modest smile gracing her lips. "Two girls." ... "My reaction gave it away, I guess."

Elliot pursed his lips, taking a moment to grab a piece of cutlery from the bar used for cutting limes and such. Using a clean damp rag, he wiped it down. "My ex-wife used to have the same reaction. I would ask if she was pregnant as a joke" He nodded his head a Carisi, setting the knife he had been cleaning down before placing both hands at the edge of the bar. "I only got slapped twice."

"Dude. How many times did you ask your wife that?! Wouldn't one time be enough to learn not to do it again." Carisi cast a glance at his recently hit shoulder as he said this.

"Raised Catholic. Half the time, she _was_ pregnant." Elliot said, easily. As if it was all the explanation required to make his statement clear. A somewhat smug look appeared on his face, then.

Amanda tried to suppress her eye role as best she could. Dudes, and their virility. She was unsuccessful. Good thing neither of her male conversation partners noticed.

"Ah. Got it…. So how many kids do you have, Eli?" Carisi asked, making conversation. He was pleased to learn he had something in common with the man.

"Five. Three girls and two boys."

"Woah." Carisi sighed, before he could stop himself. His eyebrows reaching his hair line.

The corners of Elliot's mouth went up in response. He was used to a similar exclamations when proffering information about the number of his progeny… but he kinda liked it. The reactions from people learning that he has 5 children…. They never got old.

"Like I said." Elliot gestured to his chest with his index finger. "Super catholic."

"Indeed." Amanda chuckled once more, as she raised her glass of water to her lips and took a quick sip.

"Hey, do you want me to refresh that for you?" Elliot asked, gesturing to Amanda's beverage.

"Sure, and ya know what. I'll take a sprite as well."

"Way to go big or go home, Amanda." Carisi ripped. He took that moment to run a quick hand through his greying locks. Pleased with his joke. At least this one would not get him punched…

... or so he thought.

"I'm nursing. No drinking." Amanda said with a frown. She raised her hand, as if to make a move to hit him in the shoulder again.

Carisi immediately flinched away, any semblance of formerly sustained coolness, now gone.

"I got you." Elliot said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle, as he used the beverage dispenser next to his register to pour Amanda's sprite.

Once full, he reached over, setting the glass down in front of her, just as Amanda made contact with her partners shoulder for a third time that evening.

"Ouch. Stop it, 'manda." Carisi all but whined. He delicately rubbed a hand over the spot were he had just been poked.

Carisi turned to Elliot, "Hey, can I get a shot of whiskey? Straight." He said, continuing to rub his shoulder, a sour expression on his face.

"Sure thing." Elliot responded, moving over to the center of the bar; quickly assembling the man's order.

As he did so, he heard the two customers slip back into shop talk. But not before the younger man snapped something about 'being assaulted, and in a cop bar no less'. Elliot shook his head; a laugh forming in his gut that he worked very hard to stifle. These kids were funny, Elliot thought… their playful dynamic, it was comforting.

Familiar.

It reminded him of a past where things had been easier. Where work was challenging, but enjoyable. A past where he and a former parter had once found a similar closeness matched with contention; a deep rapport.

Oh... Who was he kidding, that closeness, that rapport… it had felt like much more than that when he was with his ex partner … it felt like coming home when he was around her… being around her, it had been like breathing; totally natural.

_A gentle hand touching his shoulder. The low tenor of her voice saying his name. A flash of the rare smile that reached her eyes. Their knees bumping, on his stoop, at 4am, while she made some joke about him paying for breakfast._

_Olivia._

Elliot shook his head, willing the memory of his former partner out of his mind.

He had a bar full of people to serve, and drinks to make. And, most pressingly a whiskey to deliver. With that in mind her turned on his heels and made his way back to the man and woman at the end of the bar.

From his approaching position, Elliot heard bits and pieces of his customer's exchange…Something about testifying in the morning.

"You think that Peter will do well with Judge Petrovsky? She's not been on the bench in a while, ya know, what with her husband passing away and everything." Dominic asked. He was not rubbing his shoulder anymore, but he was keeping a bit more distance from his partner.

"As far as I know she's been on the bench for six months since returning from her bereavement. She should be fine." Rollin's replied.

"No, I'm talking about Peter. I heard she can be pretty stern towards the DAs office." Carisi added, pushing further.

"Petrovsky. She's tough, but also fair. She doesn't like people blowing smoke up her ass or abuse of power, though. Long as your DA friend does not do any of that, he should be good." Elliot said, placing two fingers of whiskey in front of Carisi.

"You know Judge Petrovsky?" The blond asked, she was looking at Elliot with narrowed eyes again, similar to when she had first given her order a little under an hour ago.

Elliot took in her shift in expression, but made an effort to ignore it. He was probably imagining things. He shuffled on his feet, "Lena? Yeah. I know her. Mean poker player."

"We had you pegged for a cop." Dominic said, gesturing between Amanda and himself. He was proud that he was correct.

"Well, this is a cop bar. You'd be hard pressed to find someone in this room that's not a cop." Elliot remarked with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes "Throw a rock, hit a cop" He raised his left arm, gesturing across the room, almost flippantly, before leaning a hip on the inside of the bar. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"How long were you a cop?" Amanda asked.

...she was not being conversational. Her tone was almost administrative. Like she was on duty; collecting facts, preparing for an interrogation.

Yeah... this was definitely not Elliot's imagination.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. Noting the way the female detective in front of him was silently scrutinizing him.

He looked back at Mikey then, to see what the state of the bar was, i.e. was he immediately needed, or better yet, could he make an excuse to walk away…

...No such luck.

Everybody was eating or drinking already, and Mikey was actually joking around with one of the waitresses at the other end of the bar. How could they be this busy, yet Elliot was not immediately needed elsewhere?

He turned back to the pair. "26 years, give or take a couple months." It fell out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Word vomit.

Carisi's eyes widened at the number. Having been in the game less than 10 years, he was impressed. "Nice." He said, his expression betraying his awe. "Which house were you at?"

Elliot frowned momentarily. He looked at the woman again, Amanda or something… that's what he had ben able to pick up… her expression remained cool and assessing.

Fuck… should he answer?

The words left his mouth before he could even consider his own answer to his internalized question. "I was at the 77th for 2 years, and then the 11th, I wrapped my time at the 1-6." His voice cracked on the last part of his sentence.

Why the fuck did he keep talking.

"No Shit!" Carisi exclaimed, taken aback. He smiled, an almost childlike joy setting across his face.

Elliot's nerves kicked in. Why was this guy so excited about that, and why was she looking like that. Like she was putting together a puzzle he didn't even have the pieces too.

"We're from the 1-6. We work in Special Victims. Carisi and I are partners there." Amanda offered. "What are the odds?" She smirked; she had figured something out.

"Right." Elliot hesitated, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. "What are the odds…"

"Which unit at the 16th?" Amanda asked before Elliot had time to really process what was happening.

She was looking at him intently once more. She had asked him a question, but her expression was one of confidence, as if she almost certainly had an answer already.

Chirst.

The corners of Elliot's mouth turned down slightly; now he was becoming visibly uncomfortable. Shuffling on his feet for a moment, he only allowed his face to set in a frown for a micro-second, before schooling his features back to their placid veneer. Years in and out of undercover work taking over like muscle memory.

His most immediate instinct was to lie. To say that he had worked homicide for 10 years. That he tore is ACL while chasing a perp one day and then rode a desk a few more years before retiring, so he could take care of his kids.

Shit that last part about his kids, it was basically true.

If of course, you pretend that the mental breakdown… and the total railroading by IAB…was not a factor

Yeah… Something simple and uncomplicated that would not warrant any other questions from the pair looking at him expectantly right now.

Elliot could do that.

But behind his reactive instinct, there was a pull in his gut. Something strong, that was propelling him not to lie.

Perhaps it was because the cops sitting in front of him would almost certainly catch his bluff for what it was. Bullshit. At least the blond one, anyway. Hell, from what he could tell, she already knew something he didn't know.

Before he could stop the vocalized air from pushing past his lips, he puffed out a low, clipped, "Special Victims. 14 years."

"Fourteen Years. That's a hell of a stint. When were you in our house." Carisi cut in, unaware he was interrupting Amanda's low-key interrogation.

"From '97 to the spring of 2012." Elliot added, on a roll with this whole truth telling thing.

Amanda's brow rose at his answer. A confirmation of her suspicions. She leaned back on the bar stool, and crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring the bartenders position.

She glanced over at Dominic, who had an excited look on his face…like a golden retriever.

Carisi pushed up off his own bar stool. Energy maxing through his body at the prospect of what he was about to say, "Well, then you gotta know our CO. She was in the department at the same time as you…." Carisi looked down as if pensive, before turning to look Amanda in the eyes… "But Leiu started in like '98 or '99, right?"

Amanda's smirked. She looked back to the man behind the bar. "Of course he knows her."

"What?", Carisi asked, oblivious.

Ignoring Dominic, she raised an eyebrow. "Now I know why you seem familiar." She looked down at the bar for a brief moment, shaking her head, a small, almost sardonic smirk passing her lips. "No way," she sighed.

Elliot was paralyzed. He already knew where this was going. Could see it in the young woman's expression; one part disbelief, another part unmasked loyalty. Loyalty to a woman that was not even here. He braced himself.

Amanda raised her he'd and looked Elliot directly in the eyes. "You… you're Elliot Stabler. …Your Olivia's ex partner."

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**Thanks for reading. **

**I hope you enjoyed the update.**

**-crackerjack**


	3. Found Memories

**It's been a minute or two since I updated. I know the wait between postings is long, but I appreciate people's ****patience as I update this story. Life and work are just, super busy.**

**Also, a few of you have asked about my story The Rookie... Soon, my friends... soon. I want to get a couple updates for Last Call done and then I will update The Rookie. I promise.**

**As always, writing for fun, not profit. #unpaid #iownnothing**

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"You're… you're Elliot Stabler. …..Your Olivia's ex partner."

Elliots lips transformed into a thin line, a clear grimace taking hold of his features now. No amount of academy training or undercover experience could will the expression he wore away from his visage. Any facade, or controlled countenance, no longer accessible. His whole body began feeling all at once, tight, and overly hot.

Elliot was unmasked.

He made no effort to argue. No denouncement; no grunt of dissatisfaction. No contradiction. No rejection of the woman's statement.

Nothing.

Elliot just stood there, a heated shame taken hold of him, coupled, more lightly, with a lingering curiosity… the shame, well, that was easy, that was all him and his lack of contact with his one time partner… shame for not going with his better instinct toward self preservation and just denying everything when the questions first started.

The curiosity though, was another matter.

Elliot allowed a question to light his eyes under the concerned brow that had all but consumed his features.

How?

How could she know who he was?

— - - —

**4 months earlier**

Olivia had been out of the precinct since 9am; something about a meeting with Chief Dodds at 1PP.

Amanda had brushed it off, not paying much attention to the fact that her boss was out that morning… Besides being insanely pregnant, which made her not care about much else outside of things that were under her direct control, she was happy she did not have to attend that kind of bullshit.

Administration… The stress of being a detective was enough. Having to wrangle a bunch of other detectives, AND help solve cases… nope. Never. Amanda never wanted to be in charge of anyone at work.

She knew herself well enough to know that she would fire everyone in the first week.

Grabbing a bit of the partially eaten scone that sat next to her computer, she glanced across her conjoined desk to see if Dominic had returned from the coffee cart down the street.

No such luck.

She nibbled at the crumb of scone in her hand.

Ugh… it tasted like, like it had been sitting out for a while. Stiff and mealy.

Wait, had she bought a scone this morning…. Amanda considered for a moment. ...No… she had two days ago, though.

Oh god.

In one dramatic sweep of her hand she pushed the remainder of the offending item into her wastebasket. It made a surprising loud sound as it hit the inside of the can, only confirming Amanda'a hypothesis that it was no longer edible. Amanda frowned.

She was hungry; she needed something to occupy her mind until she could take a break.

"Hey Fin, do you have the Smithson's case file on your desk? I need to add my notes from the interview with the mother?"

Fin looked up from his phone. He had been texting someone; a subtle smirk lifting the corners of his mouth as he did so. "Huh?"

"The Smithson's case file; do you have it? I need to add my notes." She stated cooly.

"Oh." Fin responded, setting his phone down on the olive green metal table top of his desk.

He placed his right hand on the back of his neck, his head lifting to the fluorescent lights above him… Clearly he was trying to recall where the file was. After a brief second his face lit up and he looked at her.

"Yeah, it's on Benson's desk. She said she wanted to review it before we box it to send over to Stone for trial prep."

"Cool. Thanks, Fin." Amanda made a move to get up, placing her palms flat on her desk as she used the leverage to help her rise from her office chair. She grunted from the effort.

"You want me to get it for you?" Fin made a move to rise from his own seat.

By this point, Amanda was already standing. "I got it." She smiled as she turned to make her way toward Olivia's office, "Besides, I need to do this while I still can. Next week, you will be fetching everything for me."

"Next week you go on maternity leave." Fin responded. Nonplused.

"You know what I mean." Amanda inserted, beginning to waddle toward Olivia's office.

"I don't, actually." Fin said, turning back to his computer monitor. He let only a fleeting glance linger on his phone before he did so, the smirk returning to his face.

With a few more steps, Amanda was in the office, and she was maneuvering around the space to get on the back side of the desk, so she could see where the file was.

Olivia was nothing if not organized, and unlike Amanda's desk, her files were arranged and stacked neatly, about 8 inches tall to the left of her inbox, which held another 3 inches of untouched files.

"Great." Amanda sighed, realizing she was going to have to go through both stacks. Everything was tucked so tightly together, that there was no way she would be able to identify which file was the one she needed; the case names covering one another as they rose in the stack.

Amanda shook her head, pulling out her CO's desk chair and making a move to sit in it. There was no way she could lean over the desk and do that… plus her knees had been killing her lately. She pulled one file off the first stack, looking to the upper right hand tab at the corner.

Nope, not that one.

She continued to look at each folder in the pile, one after the other, after the other. At least 20.

The Smithson file must be in the Inbox, then, Amanda mused to herself.

She reached over. After a few more pulls from that stack she raised a file over her head in victory! "Fuuuccck yessss!" She said in a soft sing-songy voice.

Before she knew what was happening the contents of the file began to pour out of the bottom edge. In her exuberance to celebrate finding the case file; a worthy, if small victory; she had neglected to pick up the collection of papers wrapped in the manilla card stock with any sort of position that allowed for structural integrity.

"Oh Shit." Amanda hissed.

"Everything okay in there?" Fin's voice sounded from beyond the threshold of the Lieutenant's office.

Amanda's head jerked toward the doorway, but she remained seated. "Yes!" She then turned in the other direction and leaned down, while seated, to try and pick up some of the papers. The folder, now mostly empty of is contents, grasped roughly in her hand. "I just dropped the file."

"You want some help-"

"I can pick up a goddamn file, Fin." Amanda barked. "I'm pregnant. Not incapacitated."

"Whatever you say." Fin's voice sounded once more, but he must have remained in his seat, because no one appeared at the door.

Pecking at the papers like a bird with her free hand, Amanda began to collect the remnants of the case file. It was reasonably quick work. The Smithson's case had been mostly open and shut, and while there were probably 50 papers in the file, it was pretty small by SVU standards.

A young women had been assaulted by her boyfriend after a party at her college dorm. The man, Ray Smithson, had confessed almost immediately, wracked with guilt once he realized what he had done while in a drunk rage. They had been able to close the case in just under a week. Amanda had interviewed the boyfriend's mother, to get a better sense of his character, and to establish the timeline, since he still lived at home.

Amanda picked up the remaining scraps; post its with Carisi's chicken scratch handwriting… Fin's printed DD5 of the outcry statement. As she moved to assemble the collected papers into something resembling the composed stack that they had once been in, Amanda caught sight of a slightly open drawer just to her bottom left of the desk. As she moved, a surface within the drawer caught the light; it flashed slightly. The drawer itself, was pulled maybe 5 inches out. Like, someone had been utilizing the contents and then attempted to shut it quickly, without much success.

Amanda set the papers on the desk, her lips pursed as she looked at drawer left ajar. Her head tilted to the side…

"…What the hell" Amanda said quietly, with a small shrug of her shoulders as if to affirm her decision. She figured whatever she would find in the small confined space would be low-key… this was after all, a workplace. It's not like Olivia would keep a severed head, or say, the Ark of the Covenant in there, or something.

She reached down and fully opened the drawer. Thankfully it didn't make a noise. Inside the drawer, were picture frames… a stack of picture frames… and an envelope.

Amanda lifted her head above the desk then, checking to see if anyone was coming. She was definitely sneaking around in her CO's desk… and it was… kind of thrilling.

Nope! No one in sight.

Amanda smirked as she reached for the small paper envelope that sat next to the frames, and lifted it so she could peek inside. The brittle quality of the paper told Amanda this had been kept a long time.

Inside was a necklace, a small insignia etched in stark relief into the gold of the pendent. A seal, featuring an Eagle perched atop a small globe, an anchor placed in the diagonal and set just behind them both. … The United States Marine Corps. The small seal was attached to a delicate golden chain that had been broken.

Despite it being unwearable at the moment, the small pendant had been kept.

…This seemed like a special object.

Guilt washed over Amanda as she held it in her hands, using her thumb to touch the seal gently. She shook her head. She need to put it back. She placed the item back into it's modest paper wrapping, and reset it gently in the drawer in the exact position she had found it.

Amanda made a move to shut the drawer then… but stopped just short of doing so.

The picture frames, which were arranged vertically in the drawer, had a small part in between them. The glass from one of the framed photos… that must be what had caught her eye.

Before she could stop herself, Amanda reached into the drawer, grasping a small 5 by 7 inch frame with a cherry wood finish. She pulled it out, turning the back towards her view. There was a handwritten inscription there.

_Olivia,_

_Happy Holidays._

_Congratulations on one year with SVU._

_Here's to many more._

_Your Partner,_

_Elliot_

Dec 25, '99

Amanda's eye's widened at the date, and she turned the frame around to get a view of the photo housed within. Her hands maneuvering the frame in a delicate manner, carefully, so as not to break it or disturb the contents.

There were 4 people featured in the photo… She immediately recognized a much younger, yet still totally greying, John Munch. Just to the left of Munch was Don Cragen. He too, looked younger; was wearing a terrible light brown pair of dress paints, a light blue stripped shirt, and black suspenders. He was pointing at the camera and laughing. Munch on the other hand, looked annoyed that his picture was being taken, his head off to the side, catching a his trademark smirk in profile as he looked away from the group. Both men were standing next to a desk in a squad room Amanda didn't recognize.

If it was the 16th precinct, it was an old building. Amanda had never been there… the fixtures were old; institutional looking. Greens and grey everywhere. White boards with crime scene photos taped up in the back. No smart screens on the walls or flat screen monitors on the desk.

Amanda's eyes scanned to the right, taking in the next two figures. They were sitting on the desk, side by side. The man in the photo had brown, closely cropped hair, and was clean-shaven. Despite the seated position featured in the photo, he was clearly tall, and his shoulders were broad. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, and his tie was tucked between the 2nd and 3rd button of his dress shirt; a common aesthetic for detectives returning from crime scenes. The younger man's right arm was slung over a women's shoulder, whom was placed next to him on the desk.

Holy god. …Olivia couldn't be more than 30 in this photo. Maybe 31.

A sort of wonderment took over Amanda's expression.

As if looking at the picture would bring Olivia into the office in that moment, Amanda popped her head above the desk for a second time.

Still no one.

Thank god.

Amanda turned back to take a longer look at the photo.

Olivia Benson is, and for all intents and purposes always has been, an attractive woman.

Amanda could comfortably admit that without jealousy or awkwardness. Her CO's features are in a word, striking. Amanda had always felt that Olivia's looks were something akin to an elegant older movie star… someone like Mansfield, or Taylor.

But the Olivia Benson in the photo… well she was like, totally stunning. Her hair was in a short bob, falling just at her jaw line, with her natural dark brown locks tucked just behind her ears. She was wearing a black button down, with her sleeves rolled up, and charcoal grey pants.

As Amanda took in the photo more closely, she realized, it wasn't so much Olivia's looks, as the expression on her face that caught Amanda's attention. In the photo Olivia was laughing, showing a full, gorgeous, smile that reached her eyes. There was a lightness about her, and she was clearly full of joy in the moment the photo was taken.

Even before Lewis… Amanda could not say if she had seen a ton of 'true joy' in Olivia's expressions. Only on occasion, since Lewis…any joy expressed by her CO was almost exclusively for Noah.

Unlike Cragen, who was looking at the photographer, or Munch, who was trying to play too cool for school in the photo, Olivia was looking at her companion sitting next to her on the desk. And he… he was was looking at her, and smiling and…

That guilt… it hit Amanda with more force this time.

She quickly tucked the frame back into its spot in the drawer. Making sure to place it perfectly in its original spot.

Pushing the drawer back to its half open position, Amanda made a move to get up, reaching for the forgotten pile of papers and file sitting next to her.

She rounded the desk as quickly as she could, grasping the case file firmly this time.

"Hey." Olivia said, appearing just then at the threshold of her office door.

Amanda's gaze snapped to attention, taking in the presence of her boss.

Olivia looked intrigued. "Everything okay?" … "Do you need something, Amanda." She questioned, taking a step into the room.

"Just need this file." Amanda proffered the stack of papers practically spilling out of the manila folder. "…gotta add my notes"

Olivia raised her left eyebrow in response. Her lips pursing comically as if to suppress a question…What had happened to that case file? It looked like it exploded.

"I dropped it." Amanda responded, sensing her bosses unvoiced question. A crooked smirk passing her lips as her eyebrows raised, knitting together. "Sorry."

"Okay." Olivia said, amusement in her tone. She worked hard to suppress the chuckle that was pushing up into her throat. …"Well, if you're adding things to it, do you mind organizing it… um, back to it's uh… original state?" She used the index fingers of both of her hands to draw a contour of a box in mid-air.

"Oh! Sure." Amanda said, nodding quickly.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem." Amanda added, moving now to make her way past her CO.

Similarly, Olivia had made a move to walk behind her desk. As she reached her chair, she looked down, clearly noting that a drawer was half open. She looked up at Amanda who was now at the threshold of the door.

"It was open when I got here." Amanda blurted.

Olivia nodded, assuring the younger woman that she trusted her response.

Even still… Olivia used her right, boot-clad foot to gently push the drawer into a closed position. "Nothing important in there anyway… just ah, junk. Stuff from my detective desk that I have not thrown out. Ya know." Olivia looked away then, wistful.

"I understand." Amanda affirmed, before taking her cue and stepping out into the bull pen, leaving Olivia alone in her office.

"What the hell happend to that file." Fin inserted, as Amanda made her way past him toward her desk. "What did you do... Open it with a leaf blower."

"Shut up, Fin." Amanda barked as she plopped down into her chair; she began the work of arranging the file into is previous, orderly state.

For the rest of that afternoon, she only let her mind wander briefly to the desk drawer, and that photo of a youthful and truly joyful, Olivia Benson.

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**I know, the end of a flash back is a strange place to leave it, but I am saving the next bar scene for Ch. 4. Did not want this thing to feel too disjointed.**

**I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.**

**-Crackerjack**


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